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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907658">The Heroes Journey: Epilogue Part 2</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137'>Pineprin137</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Carsick, Chuck is a dick, Coda, Epilogue, Episode: s15e10 The Heroes' Journey, Fluff, Headaches &amp; Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Motion Sickness, Nausea, Sick Character, Sick Dean Winchester, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:54:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Because yes, Chuck really is that big of an a**.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Heroes Journey: Epilogue Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a continuation of one of my other fics: The Heroes Journey: Epilogue, which tackles Dean lactose intolerance head-on. This, however, is just a bit of fun. A little sick Dean, a splash of caring Sam, and all the brotherly Wincest feels.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shortly after departing from the motel, the brothers came to the sad conclusion that Chuck wasn’t done messing with them quite yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since Dean was exhausted after his bout of illness, Sam drove for the first hundred or so miles. Baby wouldn’t go above fifty no matter how hard he pushed down on the gas pedal, so it was rather slow going. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they made it into California, Sam had to roll the windows up to keep from sneezing his head off while driving. Dean was still asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the elder Winchester finally </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> wake, about six hours into the drive, it was with a pained groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wincing at the unfamiliar ache in his back, Dean stretched his arms and promptly smacked his elbow into the closed window. “Son of a--!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Sam asked, glancing over. The Impala rumbled onto the shoulder-- he quickly looked back to the front. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eyes on the road, Sam!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “I’ve got it,” Sam assured Dean. The other man was grimacing as he adjusted in his seat. “You need a pit stop?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean frowned. “No. I’m fine. Just-- I could’ve sworn Baby’s seats were a bit comfier…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dean, she’s almost fifty years old. Wear and tear is just a normal part of life.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean immediately leaned forward to place a soothing hand on the Impala’s dash. “Don’t listen to him, Baby. You may be fifty, but you still sound like twenty-five.” He shot a glare at Sam who rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After another long yawn, Dean sat up straighter in his seat and rubbed at his eyes. “Jesus, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I can’t seem to keep my fucking eyes open.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam snorted. “Gee, Dean. I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with you getting the shit kicked out of you, undergoing major dental work, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> suffering from </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> bouts of lactose intolerance--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed when he realized his brother was no longer paying attention to him. “Dean? Are you even listening to me?” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he risked another glance at the passenger seat, Sam saw Dean sitting forward with a hand on his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dean? You okay?” Sam asked. He tried to get over so he could pull onto the shoulder in case Dean suddenly needed to get out but he got cut off by a white truck. “Oh, come on!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… don’t know,” Dean said. He blinked hard when the back of the semi in front of them blurred. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” The shoulder was a bit wider up ahead- if only he could get over! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t know,” he repeated softly. “I feel...weird.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weird?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, the white truck sped up to get past the semi and Sam was able to merge. As they got up to the spot he’d seen earlier, Sam pulled the Impala over and cut the engine. She seemed to give a tired groan when she settled in the Californian dirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weird how?” Sam asked. He twisted in his seat to look at his brother and found his face was scrunched up-- like it was on the rare occasion Dean got a headache. “Like sick?” he said, glancing around the car for a bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean shrugged. “Maybe...?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unbuckled his seatbelt (first time they’d use those in, like, thirty years) so that he could rest his head in his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam reached over to place his hand on Dean’s back. “Do you think it’s a migraine?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. It-- it feels like… Shit, I don’t know. I’m dizzy and hot and nauseous and my head is fuckin’ throbbing…” He moaned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam’s brows creased as he listened to Dean’s description. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No… Surely, Chuck wouldn’t go that far… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his attention back to his brother when Dean’s hand lifted to hover in front of his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean gulped loudly and reached for the door handle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m gonna be sick.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the door was open, he walked over to the grass to bend over with one hand on his knee and the other resting on his suddenly tumultuous stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Sam walked up behind him, he groaned loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy…” he murmured, gently gliding his hand up and down Dean’s back.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean focused on Sam’s touch, hoping the calming motion could soothe his stomach as well as his nerves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just breathe… You’re alright. It’ll pass.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’ll pass?” Dean mumbled before gagging harshly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam sighed heavily. “From the symptoms you listed, it sounds like you may be car sick. And if you are, being out of the car should help.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean turned his head to gape at his brother. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Carsick?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ve never been cars-” Raising his hand to his mouth once again, he took several shaky breaths before continuing. “--carsick in my life!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s kind of Chuck’s point...” Sam said, wincing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, man…” Dean whined. He turned his head to look up at his brother and found kind, sad, hazel eyes. “Really?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded. “Headache, nausea, dizziness… It’s your brain trying to keep up with the motion of the car. You seemed to do okay when you were driving, so we’ll switch once you’re ready to get back on the road.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sick heat suddenly rose from Dean’s belly. He mumbled a mantra under his breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Everything’s fine. You’re not sick. You don’t need to pu--” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He abruptly snapped his jaw shut as bitter saliva pooled on his tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dean, hey, it’s okay if you need to,” Sam assured him, “It might actually help you feel a little better…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’ wanna,” Dean grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was thoroughly fed up with being unable to keep anything in his belly! If it wasn’t goddamn lactose intolerance, it was carsickness! Fucking Chuck and his stupid story! Why couldn’t he just find some new toys to play with and leave them alone?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a while, Dean was able to stand back up. He still felt sick and his head was killing him, but the dizziness was better. Moving over to the Impala, he folded his arms on the roof and laid his head down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder, kissing his tensed muscles through his tee-shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” he asked softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dean…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean shoved off of the Impala and started pacing back and forth. “No, Sam, this is bullshit! Chuck screwed us over and for what? Because we wouldn’t play his stupid fucking game! What gives him the right... to do this... to us...” Halfway through his rant, Dean’s voice faltered. Grimacing, he cradled his belly with one hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He panted heavily through the nausea, trying and failing to regain control of his rebellious insides. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dean, are you--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slapping a hand over his mouth, Dean’s cheeks puffed out and he spun to throw up into the weeds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam hurried over to him and held him steady as he retched, long and painful until all that came up were strings of bile that choked him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Dean was finished, he stood up and reached into the pocket of his jacket for his handkerchief. He was so worn out from the continued vomiting that he didn’t have the strength to lift it though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here, let me,” Sam said, taking it from him. He cleaned off his brother’s soiled chin and his dry, cracked lips then wrapped an arm around him. “C’ mon, man, let’s get you back into the car.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t fight-- he was too exhausted. Instead, he leaned against Sam, then Baby, then Sam again, and finally, the seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sam got into the driver’s seat, Dean didn’t complain or tease him or make any comments, he just moaned softly and accepted the arm that came to rest over his shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing Dean heard before he passed out was the sound of his brother’s worried voice and the purr of a fifty-year-old engine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Dean, I’m here. I gotcha.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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